


and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.

by Night-Mare (Aoife)



Series: Cracks 'verse - All [9]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Dark fic, Flame Active Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Exploitation, Implied/Referenced Squalo/Xanxus, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, POV Xanxus, Rainy-Cloud Superbi Squalo, Rated for Xanxus’s Filthy Mouth, Starts Pre-Cradle Affair, Territorial Xanxus (Reborn)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-02 12:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoife/pseuds/Night-Mare
Summary: An AU of theCracks 'verse, in which the answer to these questions:He bites his lip. There are two ways the question he wants to ask could go, and there would almost certainly be Estraneo scum to aim the Rain at, so he probably could ask the question reasonably safely. "Squalo, where's Xanxus?"The cup in the Rain's hand shatters, as if Squalo had squeezed it too hard, and Reborn's head snapped around from his coffee machine. "Where is Xanxus, Squalo? I offered to track him down for Timoteo after he vanished, but he said that it wasn't necessary."Is that Xanxus isalsoin the Estraneo's Hands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saj_te_Gyuhyall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saj_te_Gyuhyall/gifts).



He slips out of the Iron Fort. It’s far easier than it should be, given that Enrico’s only been dead and buried for a few days; that makes the hairs on the back of his neck _itch_. He’d have to be a bit more blatant about his escape route in a few days, and see if his father’s men would take the hint that there was a huge gap in their security measures. There was the same flaw in the patrols during the daytime, and if he went over the wall and flared his Flames, he could draw Coyote’s attention, and then wind him up by waving at him from the ‘wrong’ side of the fence. And an annoyed Coyote would be a Coyote _very_ determined to thwart any future escape attempts on his part. (He’d still be able to escape, it’d just take more _effort_ ; really the Vongola had gotten so used to what they ‘knew’ about Flames that no-one experimented with them anymore. He could slide through _walls_ if he concentrated; he just had to harmonise with them.)

There’s been something nagging at his intuition for _weeks_. He’d thought that it had been a forewarning of Enrico’s death until he’d woken up the morning after they’d buried his big brother, and the need to get out, to move had still been curling at the base of his skull. Which was why he was slipping out now; there was only one other thing that could demand from him so insistently and brutally was his old neighbourhood. He’d claimed it long before the old fart had come in response to that message from his mother, and it was still _his_ despite everything that had happened.

Even if the old fart had promised to protect it for him, had set men to watch over it for him, his people had dug their claws _deep_ into his soul, and he had no intention of _ever_ letting them go. They were his, and he was a dragon about the people and things that were his.

He squirms out of the narrow window in the ragged old clothes that he keeps hidden under a light illusion at the back of his closet; he’s not so stupid as to go unarmed, and the two pistols Massimo gifted to him are heavy where they’re strapped to his thighs, but his brother’s Mist worked the bindings so they’ll go unnoticed until he needs them. And the two Rings on his fingers are his only concession to his status as one of the old fart’s heirs; his right hand has a Sky ring, plain, but enough to help him focus, and his left hand a Storm RIng - one of Secondo’s, as he’d shared the man’s rare composite Flame - and they’re both relatively plain, as he’d insisted on _that_.

(He’d preened when he’d been told about Ricardo di Vongola, and that he was the man’s spitting image in flesh and flames, but it was more curse than anything else; the old fart’s Guardians treated him like a lit molotov cocktail, rather than a street-smart-teen who needed the damn rules explained to him. Preferably before he fucked up, not after. His older brothers were trying, but they had to take turns running interference with the old fart in order to do _that_ much.)

He walks into his neighbourhood, in ragged trousers, his only two concessions to his status as one of the Vongola Skies the focus Rings he was wearing. Not that he really needed either of them, but they allowed him a degree of fine control he wouldn't otherwise have. The rumours that he hears as he wanders the neighbourhood makes him curse the fact that he'd been trying to resist the compulsion his intuition had been exerting on him. (It had been bad enough when he thought that the nagging feeling had to do with Enrico’s death; he’d thrown up when he’d found out his big brother was dead. His intuition had been prodding him to _talk_ to him, and he’d resisted and now Enrico was _gone_.)

There were children _missing_ from his territory. Not just the handful of teens that would be normal for the area - there was always a girl or two who hit puberty _hard_ , and decided that she might as well be be a firefly and there were always boys who wanted to become a hitman (and occasionally vice versa) - but close to a dozen _children_. His father had _promised_ to protect his people for him, had included the neighbourhood under the quasi-benevolent protection of the Family. So how had the disappearances gone unnoticed?

He spends the hours before dawn talking to _his_ people, making mental notes, and soothing ragged emotions - that was hard for him, required him to shape his Flames in ways that were completely unnatural to him and them - and as the dawn started to lighten the sky, he slipped back into the Iron Fort (he didn’t even try to climb back in again, just pressed himself to the wall and slipped through it; he was done with being subtle).

He’s incredibly tired - understandably so, given how intensively he’s used his Flames over the last six hours, and the fact that he hasn’t been to bed, yet - but he has to hide his street clothes, or Coyote will burn them for him, and he needs them to walk his streets safely. (It’s not his safety that he worries about, but rather the safety of his people; the temptation he’d represent to them, dressed in the rich silks of a Vongola Sky would be overwhelming. He’d certainly have tempted _him_ , dressed that way, and he was too on edge to ask questions first.) He strips off his ragged clothes and tucks them back into their box and shoves them up on the top shelf of his wardrobe (he'd need them again), before finally settling into his bed. (He was still turning over the rumours he'd heard, trying to make the pieces fit together, when he fell asleep.)

He woke from the resulting nightmare panting, his Flames licking over his skin and his lip bloody from the instinctive need to suppress the scream. His Flames immolate his bedding, and fuck, he understands why the old fart had been so insistent that the furniture in the suite had to stay, despite the fact he hated it, because it was apparently damned near indestructible.


	2. Chapter 2

He pants, and tries to settle his Flames, and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to prevent their Wrath from consuming him.

"Did you escape again last night, baby brother?" The voice came from the doorway and he gives into the impulse that presents itself to snarl, and throw a fireball at Federico, who sidesteps it. "I'll take that fireball as a yes, little brother. I'll have an Irish coffee waiting for you in the breakfast parlor, but you might want to put an illusion on the bags under your eyes before Dad sees them.” His brother eyes him, taking in the absent bedding. “Or given your exhaustion, do you need me to do it? I know being tired affects my fine Flame control."

He narrows his eyes and glares at Federico. His brother is being far too obliging, and that means there’s a trap waiting for him -

\- he slams his head back on to the mattress again. "Fuck. I'd forgotten about the fucking ball. Do I have to, Fede?"

"Yes. And there's a Guardian candidate I want you to meet. I talked a Rain-Cloud I think you'd be rather compatible with into attending tonight, and as a bonus, it would give Dad apoplexy if you succeeded in bonding him." He eyes his brother skeptically. "And before you ask, I'm not telling you anymore than that. He's Cloudy enough that he'll find you if he's sees - or feels - something about you that interests him, and if he's not, trapping him will likely result in a bloodbath." That degree of implied bloodthirstiness piques his interest and he rolls off his bare mattress.

"More than I ever wanted to see of you, baby brother," he rolls his eyes at Federico, "though, that said, I wonder if your mother had some Cavallone in her blood; your size certainly makes me feel inadequate." He snorts and crosses the room to his chest of drawers; based on the number of times he'd walked in on Fede with one of his harem, his favorite sibling had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

"Fede, if you don't want to see anything, then don't look. And no, I can do the illusion." He turns back to his older brother and pointedly erases the visual signs of his exhaustion. His older brother shakes his head and laughs, and there's a click as Federico backs back out of his room, and pulls the door shut, and he mechanically pulls clothes on and fuck, had he really only gotten two hours sleep? He scrubs his eyes with the palms of his hands and then considers what will be the best way to go about confirming the things his intuition had been screaming at him about. He couldn’t go back out again tonight; if Fede had gone to the bother of actually bribing a Cloudy-type that he thought was a good match for him into attending the Ball, he’d have to try and play nice.. Unlike his other siblings - and contrary to his father’s assumptions - Federico had a full set of guardians because he’d taken the initiative to consider all of the possible candidates. (He and Massimo were both amused that Fede’s Guardians were all female, and as love with each other as they were with their Sky.)

The promised Irish Coffee is waiting for him downstairs, and Fede really hadn't skimped on the whisky. It was delightfully strong, and he plotted as he nursed the drink only for Massimo to settle into the chair opposite him, and dismissed his lurking bodyguard. "You're scheming, little brother. And Coyote’s twitchy, too; what have you been up to?"

He looked at his oldest remaining brother through the whisky fumes, and debates what he should tell him. (It was fascinating that his father’s Storm had actually noticed his break out last night.) Of course that was the moment that his intuition decided to pipe up; it had been nagging him to talk to Enrico - he took another gulp of his whisky-laced-coffee (he shouldn’t really be drinking, but he liked the taste and he was Stormy enough that it didn’t really affect him; it would have to be laced with Rain and Sun Flames before it did) and shoved the grief into the tiny box it had escaped from - he wasn’t sure if Massimo would be in any position to help, but he’d rather not have to deal with the twisty uncomfortable feeling in his gut any longer than he had to.

He still thought that Fede would be a better bet - and he’d corner him later (well, it was Fede's Harem that would be most use - that they were his harem was a running joke; their father was ignoring the fact they were his actual Guardians, and that two of them had been Varia before Fede had coaxed them into his Harmony - he suspected). "Went walkabout last night, Massi."

"Ah." His oldest remaining brother poured himself a cup of the coffee and then sniffed it thoughtfully. "And something you found in your old territory has you in a foul mood, Xan." His oldest remaining brother’s eyes were a far more vivid orange than he’d ever seen them before. He revised his opinion of how helpful Massimo could be. He'd put together the clues fast, and perhaps there was more to him than he’d thought. He frowned at the line of thought that opened up that Massimo had seen the possibilities opening up in front of him and decided that playing the game was his best bet. He hoped it wouldn’t get him killed.

"There's more than a dozen kids missing from my neighbourhood. And he promised that he'd keep my territory safe. He promised." He took another mouthful of the Irish coffee. "One or two vanishing is normal, Massimo. But twelve?"

"I'll look into who was set to keep watch over them, Xan and see if they can tell me what happened."

"Thanks, Massi." He finished off the Irish Coffee Fede had made him, and looked longingly at the bottom of the cup.

"No more whisky until lunchtime, baby brother. I can't believe that Fede's been enabling you like that." His brother mostly ‘feels’ amused, not disapproving.

"I’m Stormy enough it barely affects me. It mostly just keeps me from trying to kill Coyote." He's being honest; Coyote's Storm and his own Wrath were entirely incompatible, and their father was prone to smothering his Flames to make Coyote more comfortable, rather than just letting the two of them hash out their own agreement with each other. (Probably rightly suspecting that if he didn’t they’d go at each other hammer and tongs, and only one of them would walk away from the incident.)

“Ah. You know, if you’d just said something about that, I wouldn’t have been half as disapproving, Xan.” He glares at Massimo, who stares back at him defensively, but the illusion covering the whisky bottle he’d been looking for faded. He makes himself another Irish coffee; heavy on the whisky, very light on the coffee, and his brother manages to hold himself just to a sigh. “Is Coyote that bad, kid?”

“S’not him. Or rather it isn’t just him. If the old fart would just let the two of us kick the shit out of each other we could settle things, but he uses his Flames to force us into Harmony and that makes me want to set fire to the fucking mansion, Massi.” His brother winces, and pointedly changes the subject.

“Did Fede tell you he found you a potential Rain-Cloud?” He nods. His brothers are interfering old maids, but he can tell Massimo is going somewhere with his train of thought, so he doesn’t tell him to fuck off. “I suspect that Fede didn’t tell you his identity, and i disagree with his decision. The Varia recently gained a new leader as a result of a little spat, and their new leader is your age and newly active, and very Cloudy for a self-declared Rain.” That makes his Flames flare hungrily, and Massimo grins. “Have fun hunting him, little brother.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Ball is just as bad as he’d feared, and his shitty old man had Visconti working in concert with him to keep everything ‘harmonious’; their combined Flames grated against his own, and made him want to snarl, and rage. At least Fede had his Storm plastered to him, so his Will was his own, and Massi was doing _something_ peculiar with his own Flames that meant their father’s Flames slide off of him (he’d have to pin down his oldest remaining sibling and ask him how he was pulling off that trick; it didn’t seem to be antagonising the old fart as much as his Wrath did). He retreated from the fray, in search of the Rain-Cloud his brothers had insisted would be at the Ball _somewhere_ ; no self-respecting Cloud would tolerate the way his father’s Flames were smothering the ballroom for very long. 

He stalks the corridors surrounding the ballroom, senses on high alert as he searches for the faintest wisp of a Cloud’s Flames; in the end, he finds his prey watching from one of the high balconies that overlook the ballroom; there’s a Mist-Flame-barrier encircling the small alcove, and that made him pause, and watch the Rain-Cloud thoughtfully. The other teen was pacing back-and-forth, a sword at his waist, and he found himself appreciating the other’s lithe form and spitting Flames. 

But the swordsman was obviously talking to someone, probably the Mist who was holding the privacy shield that was obscuring their voices. And given the teen’s crossed sword insignia, and the intensity of the conversation, there was a decent likelihood that the other participant in the conversation was a Varia Officer, too, he wasn’t going to interrupt. (While he was _fairly_ confident he could take on an individual Varia Officer as Wrath Flames were fucking fantastic for combat, and he’d been fighting with them since well before he’d been scooped up by the Vongola, but two Officers was probably a bit much for him to fight two-on-one.) 

His rare show of patience is rewarded, by the Mist in question shimmering into sight and he hisses as he realises exactly who he’s looking at. The fucking Mist _Arcobaleno_ was taking orders from the Rain-Cloud his brothers were encouraging him to court; had Fede and Massi actually _registered_ that the teen really was the Head of the Varia? (Who was he kidding; two of Fede’s Harem were former Varia members. Of course they knew.) The barrier drops, and with hindsight, the handful of words he hears are definitely intended as bait and that makes him wonder what Fede had said to the Rain-Cloud to get him here.

“Mou. If you kill him, the forfeited contract will come out of your paycheck.” And then he’s matching his Will against the other’s slippery half-Active Flames; they twist and dance against his, and then there’s a sword, and fuck he only had his knives. Fucking Coyote and his fucking rules, and goddamnit he preferred the hand guns Massi had given him, but that didn’t mean he was useless. And the other teen was distracted by fighting off his shitty old man’s Flames, so the two of them were far more equally fucking matched than they’d have been otherwise. 

If it had been a fucking contract, the Mist-trash would have already put a knife in his back, but it wasn’t. It was a proper fucking Cloud courting, and he had a shit eating grin on his face. Didn’t matter that he didn’t know the trash’s name; he could fucking guess what Family he belonged to with that hair, and he didn’t fucking care anyway. He was more interested in the blood he could feel soaking the shitty-suit he was wearing and the purple Flames he’d just forced alight in the other’s eyes.

The weight of his father’s Flames mutliplied dramatically and he hissed in displeasure as their fight was interrupted, but he wanted to crow in delight when the Rain-Cloud scowled too, and instead of the fragile bond evapourating it doubled and redoubled, it’s strength propagating as fast as Coyote tried to erode it. It made his Flames _sing_ , and he snarled, and turned on his heel, forcing himself to walk away from his Cloud and his shitty old man - the trash had the fucking Mist Arcobaleno watching his back; he’d survive - and retreated to his shitty suite to change out of his trashed finery and into something he could walk his territory in.

Fede is waiting in his suite. Of course he fucking is; his Storm and his Mist were both Varia, and were probably doing something scandalous in the Ball Room while his Mist wore his face. “Your new Rain-Cloud’s name is Squalo Superbi, little brother. Father was trying to force him into Massimo’s arms and we both thought he’d suit you _far_ better.” Fede throws a key and a coin and he snatches them out of the air without thinking about it. “Go finish courting your Cloud, brat. And don’t worry about the Varia trying to kill you off at the moment; they’re currently contracted to keep you alive.” The new bond was raw, rasping at his Flames, needing to be completed, and he felt like he could use it as a lodestone.

“Go fuck yourself, Fede.” His brother snorted. 

“I don’t need to do that, Xan, and you know it -” 

“- not the point, Fede.” The younger of his remaining brothers saluted, and shut the door to his suite; he rapidly stripped off the remainder of his formal gear. The coin was a Mist embued token; presumedly it would get him past the Varia’s defenses, and the key was to one of the motorbikes in the pool, and he snorted and pulled on his leathers. He’d hunt down his new Cloud and leave handling their father to Massimo (Federico would be too busy trying to talk one of his Harem into sharing his bed with him rather than with each other) and apologise later. Possibly by introducing him to some of the sane Lightnings he knew. 


End file.
